


A Hand on a Broken Man

by sinivalkoista



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Catholic Guilt, Catholic Matt Murdock, Catholicism, Emotional Hurt, Guilt, Heartbeats, Introspection, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinivalkoista/pseuds/sinivalkoista
Summary: “Surely no one lays a hand on a broken man."Matt tries to stop.
Relationships: Matt & His Problems
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	A Hand on a Broken Man

Job 30:24-27

“Surely no one lays a hand on a broken man

When he cried for help in his distress.

Have I not wept for those in trouble?

Has my soul not grieved for the poor?

Yet when I looked for good, evil came;

When I looked for light, then came darkness.

The churning inside me never stops;

Days of suffering confront me.”

...

Matt has tried to stop.

He knows this is a sure sign that he is addicted to some part of his alter ego, but he can’t bring himself to care, sometimes. No one’s there to tell him he’s gone too far, that he’s crossed the point of no recovery and slipped too far down the edge and is about to drown.

He’s tried to stop, honestly.

At first, he thought he could control it, learn to keep his senses within the confines of his own room and maybe expand to the rest of his own apartment on nights when he feels too exposed, too vulnerable (but no farther).

If he exerted a  _ little  _ more concentration, listened to the rhythm of his own heart instead of the dozens around him…

It never worked.

They are a drumbeat, a welling orchestra, thudding in time to the beating of blood through his own ears. High, piercing wails, screeches, sirens, and the steady flow of voices - always voices, people needing themselves to be heard, showing their anger, their hurt, their frustration, their love, their happiness, their sorrow.

_ Ithoughtyouweren’tcominghometonightthisshowisboringcan’tyoueverlistentoawordIsaywherewereyoulastnightareyouactuallywearingthatifyoudon’tcomenowwe’regoingtobelatedarlingthere’snothingtoworryabout- _

Matt has tried music and earplugs, too.

The music was too loud, too jolting. Instead of lulling him off to sleep, it awakened his mind, sparking it, or prolonged his consciousness. It was a pulsation of its own, pounding through his brain, demanding his attention. When he’s tired, music has always been a fly buzzing at the back of his brain instead of the soothing lullaby it’s to others. 

Surprisingly, however, the first time he slid the earplugs into his ears, they muffled the cacophony, pushed it to a small roar in the background, a brook’s water trickling over itself or the steady rumble of thunder.

Matt found himself relaxing.

But then the thought hit him.

Just because he couldn’t hear the noise of the city, its alarms, bells and whistles, didn’t mean that they weren’t  _ there _ . Didn’t mean that someone wasn’t calling, screaming out for help, that blood wasn’t being spilled, that the smell of a fired gun wasn't lingering in the air, bones weren’t snapping, bruises weren’t swelling, someone wasn’t crying because she couldn’t fight this one. Because of his  _ self-centeredness,  _ his greedy desire for silence, someone was hurting, and someone’s plea for help was being crushed, smothering, shoved into the darkest corner of Hell’s Kitchen.

Because Matt couldn’t live with a little noise, couldn’t  _ bother  _ himself to pull his body out of bed, to don the suit, to push his muscles further. Because Matt was  _ selfish. _

He tore the earplugs out.

…

Matt has tried to ignore it.

He’s heard the argument so many times.

_ Let the law take care of it.  _

_ It’s in the hands of the authorities now.  _

Once, he used to believe it, used to think the open ground of the courtroom was enough to wipe the whiteboard clean, to erase the smudges, but he has looked for the arrival of good, looked for a glimmer of light and hope but only found evil and darkness.

Maybe he is meant to be that light, the guardian angel of the tormented. But he doesn’t feel any relief. There’s always a never-ending churning inside him, an anger, a wrathful suffering that cuts like a hand has been laid upon him, pushing him forward to the breaking point. 

Matt has _ tried _ to stop.

But in the end, it doesn’t matter what happens to him, whether or not someone will cry for him because he has gone too far, because he’s already a broken man.


End file.
